


50 on our foreheads

by StHarold



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Death, Harry Styles - Freeform, No happy endings, One Shot, Other, Sad, Suicide, sometimes happiness is too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StHarold/pseuds/StHarold
Summary: Tonight we should look out the window lest we miss the falling stars.  They’ll be counting the days you’ve lived.Harry laughs more than anyone else.





	50 on our foreheads

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the song called "50 On Our Foreheads" by White Lies.  
> I wrote it a while ago in my native language and decided to translate it.  
> TW: suicide.  
> I may or may not have been under the influence when I wrote this.

We run, inhale, exhale. Our eyes water for the sun beams hard. The laughter breaks our ribcages in two, making us let out husky coughs. We’re barely alive, we smile.  
It is Dr. Pepper and the last day of school that we have on our hands, we run and jump on the backseats of the stadium, we flee away from the school territory, from the “forever 17” territory. Here it is, our vessel marked 18.  
We throw our schoolbags in high grass, grass higher than our hands outstretched, it touches the sky. The sky quivers, torn apart by the wind. The enveloping lemon flavored warmth takes us back to our childhood when we would be playing outside, and Harry’s mom would bring us lemonade and apple pies, still steaming and fresh out of the oven. We had the whole life ahead, eye-wateringly ahead.  
Tomorrow we’ll break into the summer, into the vessel, each into his own cabin.  
Tonight we should look out the window lest we miss the falling stars. They’ll be counting the days you’ve lived.  
Harry laughs more than anyone else.

His school uniform is dirty, his lips stretch in a smile like a pink bubblegum, and the tears roll down his cheeks.  
He goes back home carrying a feeling of careless happiness right inside his pocket.  
There’s a lump in his throat from all the excitement, and his heart is torn apart by the unconditional, impeccable beauty of it all.  
There’s “50” written on his forehead, written with the pen his mom gave us last spring. He giggles, choking on his own laughter.  
The pre-evening wind takes the sun’s hand, and together they knock on the slightly opened window. Harry is crying, for he can’t handle the feeling of happiness 10 times bigger than his own heart. He has a gun in his hand, the smooth barrel against his temple. Harry can see the window open wide, and with the biggest smile on his face he takes in the picture: the opened window, the apple pie left on the table, the curtain is blown by the merciless wind, reminding him of the vessel he’ll never go aboard.  
As the last seconds pass by, on the other side of the world, where it’s already dark, the boy looks out the window. He sees a falling star named Harry, unchained, leaving sparks where he crosses the sky.


End file.
